I'll Be Home For Christmas
by thank-you-bukowski
Summary: Written for episode 8.10, with mention of 8.09. Based on the promos for 8.10. Angst, spoilers, and implied torture (same level as promo). Heavily suggested Dean/Cas. Dean sits alone on Christmas Eve, Bing Crosby plays, and Castiel finds himself somewhere else entirely.


**A/N: This is my first fanfiction EVER, OF ALL TIME. So I'm very nervous, la la la.**

**As always, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Reviews are love.**

Sitting next to the window of his hotel room, with his chair angled out to the view (such as it was) Dean Winchester swung his legs up to rest on the sill and sighed. Sam had left earlier in a huff, slamming the door to Room 118 practically on Dean's nose. Seriously, like, _a centimeter away_. And wouldn't that have just have taken the cake (pie he instantly amended) having his little brother break his nose instead of some monster. Just going and ruining his good looks all willy-nilly like. Hey, at least if he had nothing else, he had his looks. Well, that, and his endearing sense of humor.

Dean grimaced as he remembered the look on his brother's face, before rolling his shoulders back as if his physical motion could dismiss his gloomy mental state. He took a long draw of his beer, before letting his arm drop back down- slack, with the bottle dangling precariously from his fingertips.

Sure, Sammy was pissed and they were on shaky terms. But so what. They always got over it before, and they would this time. Just because he had his panties in a bunch over the Amelia debacle, the chick who had _stopped Sammy from looking for him in Purgatory. _

His conversation with Benny came back to him unbidden.

_Guys like us… we don't get a home. We don't get a family._

Shaking his head, he reiteratedthe thought to himself that the brothers had been through much worse together. Hell, literally, and back. At least this one wasn't a demon so, hey, she had that going for her.

"You have Sam," Benny had said, and yeah, yeah he did, even if sometimes he had a hard time feeling like he did.

Snow had begun to softly fall outside, blanketing the parking lot with a thin layer of film. His beer finished, Dean stood up and ambled slowly to the fridge, the ache in his back from the hunt earlier troubling him as he stretched out on bow-legs before swinging the fridge door open. Grabbing another bottle, he flipped on the television set and didn't bother to change the channel before resuming his former pose.

He just wanted the sound, instead of the silence.

What a way to spend a Christmas Eve. In all fairness, it was pretty par for the Winchester course.

Twisting the bottle cap on the fresh beer, Dean resolutely turned his thoughts to a different topic. Truth was, Sam issues aside for the moment, he was more worried about Castiel. And, shit, wasn't that an odd feeling to know he could worry about the nerdy little angel again after everything. And he was. Worried, that is. Seriously worried. Been worried about him ever since he popped up out of nowhere, sprung from Purgatory by God knows what, for who knows what reason. It didn't sit right, and every instinct the hunter had told him so. Put on top of that the conversation they had had started back in 'Toon Town and Dean found himself thinking more on the angel than… well, he had been thinking of him pretty constantly since his hunt through Purgatory, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself. Of course, if he was going to be perfectly, _perfectly _honest, he had been thinking of him pretty constantly since, "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."

Anyways, coupled with the angel's sudden disappearing act earlier in the night, things just seemed _off _to Dean. Because disappearing without even an "and how do you do" always signaled good things. Cas had popped up, stoically and (a tad intimidatingly) declared "I need both of you to stow your crap," before he had _wooshed _out again. All feathers and suddenness. A year or two ago, Dean would have thought "typical," and that would of have been it. Now, though, now something was definitely not copacetic.

Sighing again, and honestly was this getting to be a _thing_, he sunk lower into his chair as the movie that had been on t.v. ended and Bing Crosby's voice started crooning over the rolling credits.

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_You can count on me…_

* * *

Castiel blinked. One second he had been radiating irritation and urgency and then, _now_, he was here again, wherever here in Heaven was. The rush of memories of his previous two encounters slammed into him. Naomi sat across from where he stood stationed behind the same slab of a desk he had seen her at the previous two times.

"Sit down, Castiel."

"I think I would rather not. Why did you bring me here," he asked with barely a beat between thoughts.

_Speaking of irritation_.

"Really, Castiel, I insist."

Naomi motioned to a white chair sitting across from her desk. Castiel, against his will, felt his legs begin to advance toward the seat and fighting against it, sat himself down.

Naomi got up from her desk, dove gray suit as crisp as ever. The gray felt appropriate to Castiel, as she begun to circle around him like a shark, a disconcertingly similar placid expression of predation fixed there. The clip-clap noise of her black high heels only served to heighten the sense on disquiet the angel felt, and he unconsciously flexed his hand wishing for his angel blade to appear.

Halfway around, she paused to spit out,

"We have a situation," before suddenly she was right there in front of him, aggressively leaning into his personal space, trapping him with arms to either side of his body and leg in between his own. Despite the terror that welled up in his belly, he couldn't help but fight the flicker of a memory that welled up,

"Cas, personal space. We've talked about this."

Then before he could truly process the utter wrongness of _that particular memory applied to anything to do with Naomi_, the light that had been looming in the frosted office glass windows increased into a crescendo and everything went white.

_Christmas Eve will find me_

* * *

Calling Sammy, Dean wasn't surprised when it went straight to voicemail. Instead of trying to get him again because right at this very moment _screw that, _he flipped his phone closed and slipped it into his pocket. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he decided to try a different tact.

"Silent night… uh, cold as fuck night, round yon Castiel angel and nerd…"

_Why hadn't this gotten easier after all of the prayers in Purgatory._

"Look, Cas, if you're there, just pop on down. I could really use you around right about now."

"Please, man."

The only answer was Crosby's continued warble.

_Where the lovelight gleams_

* * *

Castiel came to suddenly, only to find himself restrained in the same chair, although now he was unable to move. There was a searing sensation around his wrists, and as he looked down, he realized that he was manacled and his grace restrained. He had thought he had heard Dean's voice.

"I demand you let me out of here immediately," he growled to Naomi.

"I'm afraid I can't do that Castiel," she responded, as she remained perched in front of him.

"What I'm going to do now, don't worry, you'll be as good as new afterwards."

An ominous noise began to emanate from Naomi's hand, and he looked down to see a tool he did not recognize sickeningly jog to life as she advanced towards him with it.

Castiel had learned on Earth that there was a common myth that when people passed away, their whole life was supposed to flash before their eyes.

His eyes wavered for only a second's time, as he held Naomi's gaze in defiant challenge.

What he felt to his very core in that second was a million freckles, green eyes as soft as moss, warm smiles, and rough hands against his shoulder.

And he thought, _Well, maybe that saying holds true for angels too.  
_

* * *

As Castiel sat, immobile, facing down an unknown pain, he found himself wishing only to be home, on Earth again, next to Dean.

And as Dean put himself to bed, turning to face the window again with the softly drifting snow, he found himself wishing only to be home, with his brother, next to Castiel.

_Merry Christmas to me, I guess_, Dean thought, and then they both slid into unconsciousness.

_I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams._


End file.
